Forgive me
for never saying
what your heart as longed to hear
it's not that I cannot
but more
that I dare not

for what
words could I

a humble Poet speak...

to make
your heart mine own

as your heart

owns

mine.

Soft fingers, white as the snow they sprinkle like glitter across
The earth and sea.
Yet dark against the sunset sky,
And soaring toward us with the speed of a country breeze.
They flee from the descending light, that illuminates the sky in a gaze like eyes closing; as their lids fall, darkness overtakes the sky, and pulses against the vibrant rays
of the retreating sun.
Then, the soft fingers are gone;
like a droplet of water in a tub of blood,  they are camouflaged, a magic trick of the heavens, our eyes drawn to the main act, while they float in careless leisure.
But when the sun yawns her way awake again, they are beautiful creatures,
whipping and howling their fury as the rain,
and forming pictures  to decifer when the sky is blue and clear.
And so they will continue, an endless trek across a desert of blue, darkening and lightening until the end of days.
        
Watchful, radiant, and immortal they remain.

She praises me with all her pretty smiles;
The ones she passes & winks to me daily;
And even the ones she keeps to herself...

She criticizes me so genuinely & sweetly;
The harsher ones are sweet in her voice;
And she doesn't even have to try for it...

She breathes just soo-sweetly during calls;
The warmth of her exhalation can be felt;
And so I imagine it on a winter Sunday...

She talks so softly that even roses'll blush;
The words escape her lips so effortlessly;
And the way she tells the three words...

She complains so childishly which confuses;
The tone of her voice tells me she's the one;
And I plan who'll be cuter - her or the kids!

On silken wings and silken strings
the garden doth awake
and from their beds those sleepy heads
their petals gently shake
a snail or two say how are you
as bumblebees take wing
to nectar sweet with sticky feet
as skylarks start to sing
a ladybug sleeps yet so snug
beneath a quilted leaf
her dreams untold as wings unfold
as earthworms crawl beneath
the ants at work refuse to shirk
they have no time to play
and cabbage whites like stars at night
take flight and fly away
the field mouse and wooded louse
attract the watchful eye
of tawny owl and feathered fowl
that own the morning sky
a homeward cat puts pay to that
no bird is fool enough
to try to land where danger stands
All teeth and claws called Fluff
so morrow breaks and nature wakes
and soon enough will we
but until then this land of men
is theirs so naturally

I do poetry
not for the sake of creating confusions,
or miserable interjections, or an uphill struggle
to unravel such an ignominious mystery,
bound to recollect the scattered pieces of my soul
as it ends a series of endless wailing,
of countless days of badly breaking,
of numerous attempts to keep me from falling,
at the deepest fissures I am left with.
But, man,
Thank you.
I thank you all for that,
for as long as I have an ocean of emotions to feel,
for as long as this life gives me false guarantees,
as long as my heart continues to blindly receive,
as long as the universe gives us a reason to still dream,
as long as you have your eyes to read what I really feel,
I will not mark an end to my desire to fill
an empty surface, so as to truly reveal
that I may refuse to let the world in
but I know I can give it another try
in another time, when I get my old self back
and find her ready to feel again,
fresh and free from fancy frustrations.
Loud and sound, I will someday astound
the souls that tried to bring the worst out of me
and will divulge the best of me.
I'll say, at last, I am finally free,
and thanks for making me see
that even without you, I can always be.
Thanks for the memories.
Thanks for the tears.
Thanks for all.
It was truly a bliss
to let go of what it's not worth it.
Let's think it was worth it.
My crazy, little, once-upon-a-time-dream,
you saw how I ebbed out of my soul.
Now, you will be seeing
how I will flow back to the shore,
with a stronger heart and a bolder soul,
through this bland and lonely poem.